


I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Badass Leia, Badass Maz Kanata, Badass Rey, Basically everything Christmassy, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, F/M, Have a cool yule, Idiots in Love, Leia-Rose Harmonie, Mechanic Rey, Men in plaid, Redeemed Kylo Ren, Rey is bothered by Ben’s hot bod, Sleigh Bells, Sleigh Ride, Soft Ben Solo, Solo Family dynamics, Solo children, Solo family at Christmas, Solo women are invincible, The Christmas we all long for, beauty and the beast vibes, but maybe next year, in a good way, it doesn’t go the way you think, lawyer ben, meeting santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of Christmas nonsense to cheer us all up. 🎄
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 37
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scoutchick104](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scoutchick104/gifts), [HarrietVane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrietVane/gifts), [ThatTopApple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatTopApple/gifts).



“Anakin, Anakin, wake up, wake up. He’s here. I see’d him. Ani, wake _up_ , please, I see’d him.”

The unrelenting, urgent whisper/shouting of his baby sister pulled Anakin Solo from the land of dreams, it must be said none too happily. In fact he sounded remarkably tetchy in the manner of their mother as he ordered without opening his eyes, “Leia-Rose, go back to bed.”

The little mite shaking him awake was also blessed with her fair share of their mother’s character, in this case stubborn persistence.

“Ani, wake _up_ , he’s here, I see’d him.”

Capitulating, Anakin prised open one eye and took in his sister’s excited countenance, indeed she was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Who did you see’d - see?”

“ _Him_ , Ani, I see’d _him_ , Santa Claus!”

At these words Anakin’s heart sank and he closed his eye, groaning internally. He was ten years old and knew the truth about Santa Claus. His sister, four years younger, was still a true believer, knowing all the tenets of the Santa Claus story and reciting aloud the names of the reindeer who pulled his sleigh with breathless pride.

Their mom had been dropping gentle hints that Santa Claus was not in fact real, but was treading softly, mindful of Anakin’s devastation when Torquil Hux, Rory Hux’s malignant older brother, sneeringly told the best friends that Santa Claus was a big fat lie perpetuated to ensure their best behaviour in the months before Christmas.

Anakin was still dealing with the emotional scars of that reveal. Mom, when he’d at last stopped bawling, had wiped his nose and dried his tears and told him, “You’re just like your father.” Going by the way she said it, though, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Mom thought dad was just about the best person ever.

Rallying, Anakin opened his eyes and raised himself from his pillow onto his elbows, putting on his best authoritative voice, “Leia-Rose, go back to bed this minute.”

He’d over egged it, like dad sometimes did with mom. A set look appeared on his sister’s face, reminiscent of mom, just short of a scowl. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Leia-Rose, _please_ go back to bed,” he wasn’t too proud to beg if he’d messed up - like dad.

She huffed, but lowered her arms, pushing back some stray hairs fallen from the braid dad put in every night before she went to bed, twisted so it fell over one shoulder. The bow dad had tied in the ribbon had come loose, but the knot held firm.

“I’m going downstairs to look.” This was uttered in a final, no prisoners kind of way. Anakin should have known better than to provoke her. Mom got like this sometimes, but, hey, even dad messed up from time to time.

“Leia-Rose you know mom and dad don’t like you to go downstairs on your own. If you want to go downstairs, go ask permission.

Anakin knew she wouldn’t, but it was worth a try, mom would certainly order her back to bed. Dad, if mom wasn’t around, would give in. Mom, never. Obedience to the house rules was a hill mom was prepared to die upon, and as mom slept at dad’s right hand, no way would dad give in, even if he wanted to. Leia-Rose had pretty much got dad wound around her little finger - when mom wasn’t around.

Leia-Rose did that thing she did when she was absolutely determined on something, she flicked her braid over her shoulder, turning on her slipper clad heels and stomping toward the door and the lit hall beyond - dad always left a light burning so his children were never in darkness. They had night lights too.

“Leia-Rose,” Anakin growled warningly. His sister flicked her braid again, setting it swinging defiantly with a toss of her head. Anakin sighed and stumbled out of bed, brain fogged with sleep.

He caught up with her on the stairs she was carefully negotiating, her steps short as she favoured granny Leia height wise. Taking her hand, he encouraged her, noting at the same time their parents had left the Christmas tree in the hall lit up. The house was silent, the silence pressing down on Anakin’s ears. Anakin felt suddenly anxious. Perhaps he ought to have knocked on his parents door and got them to take charge of Leia-Rose?

Looking at his sister, she apparently knew no such doubts, fizzing with the expectation of meeting Santa Claus. Anakin was convinced she’d been dreaming, but knew until she checked it out there’d be no living with her.

As they crossed the hall to the main living room where the tree under which their presents would lay, Anakin could see the door was partially open and lights burned. Of course, mom and dad must be putting out their presents, and it must have been dad Leia-Rose heard moving their gifts downstairs. Leia-Rose was in expectation of a pink scooter with white handles and coloured streamers dangling tastefully down from them. Anakin felt relief, mom would soon take charge of his sister and he could go back to bed.

He pushed open the door and for one glorious moment thought Torquil Hux had been wrong, his parents had been wrong, Santa Claus was real. Before the siblings eyes was a tall figure dressed in a red coat trimmed with white fur, wearing a red hat with a white fur bobble.

Even as Anakin felt his heart lurch with happiness and excitement, he took in the figure’s jeans and moccasin slippers, as worn by his father, and his elation drained away.

Beside him his sister gave a gasp, pulling her hand from his and clamping both of hers over her mouth in shock. The reason for this was obvious, _Santa Claus_ was kissing their mom, had his arms curled around her holding her tight, his head bent the better to press his lips against hers. Leia-Rose had not taken in the details Anakin had and truly believed their mother was being kissed by Santa Claus. Her anger quickly followed on from her shock.

“Hey, mister, you let go my mommy right now. You just wait, fella, my daddy is going to walk all over your ass!” Leia-Rose spent a lot of time with her namesake and had absorbed Leia Organa’s saltiness, clearly.

His sister’s hands were now curled into fists, resting clenched upon her hips, her demeanour reminiscent of a spitting, feral cat. Even the loose wisps of her hair seemed to be electrified by her ire, standing on end as though charged with static electricity. In a word, she was pissed. At Santa.

Santa had jumped at the sound of her bellowed challenge, and their mother’s eyes (closed in bliss?) flew open. In spite of being comparable, size wise, to the period at the end of a sentence, Leia-Rose could project her voice real well thanks to inheriting some of granny Leia’s genes. When Senator Organa raised her voice in the legislature, men listened.

Santa turned around, and Leia-Rose gasped again as he was revealed to be their father.

“Daddy!” Then, as realisation hit, “What are you doing? Santa’s coming, you should be in bed.”

“So should you be, young lady.” Their father had walked forward and was lifting her up, her arms stretching out to him automatically, head resting against his shoulder as he settled her on his hip.

“She must have seen you in your Santa clothes and wanted to come see,” Anakin started to explain, trailing off and getting distracted by some very interesting shaped gifts now lying under the unlit tree, beautifully wrapped. He wondered if they had his name on them, his list had been a long one this year.

“Did you now?” Their father was now tickling Leia-Rose’s tummy, causing her to giggle and wriggle in his arms. Any minute now she’d notice the heap of gifts under the tree and go about persuading her dad to let her open some, and Ben Solo would give in and let her. It was a racing certainty. Except their mother breezed in, “Right, you two, bed, and stay there until we call you tomorrow morning - late.”

Anakin took in that their mother was wearing a long red coat with a fluffy feathery trim on the collar and cuffs, and a red hat with more of the fluffy feathery stuff on the brim. Did they dress like this every year? And to what purpose? He and Leia-Rose wouldn’t get to see it, and why else would they dress up like Santa and Mrs Claus?

There was no possibility to ask, mom was shepherding him and dad toward the door, turning the main lights off with the snap of a switch. “Bed!” she ordered again, “and we need to talk tomorrow, young lady, about language.”

Leia-Rose squirmed with discomfiture in her dad’s arms, reassured by his soft laughter in her ear that he’d deflect mom’s anger. Her daddy was just the best.

Settled down (again) for the night - “No Leia-Rose Harmonie Solo, you may not have another story read!” - Santa and Mrs Claus sought the sanctuary of their bedroom.

“Well, that could have gone pear-shaped,” breathed Rey Solo, back pressed against their bedroom door.

“Mmm,” murmured Ben Solo, distracted by the way his wife’s velvet coat had fallen open at the knee, revealing black stockings and high heels.

“She must have heard you when you bumped into the wall with her scooter and caught a glimpse of you as you crossed the hall. Really, Ben, you’re going to have to be more careful until we break it to her gently there is no Santa Claus.”

“Mmm,” murmured her distracted husband again, trying to figure out how to get his wife out of her coat, which seemed to have no zipper or buttons.

“Oh, please,” Rey batted away his exploring hands and ripped open the front, revealing it to be secured by a strip of hook and loop.

“I should make you wait, really,” she softly grumbled as he ran his big hands appreciatively over her lingerie clad body, “at least until gone midnight. Anyway,” she gasped as he knelt before her, pressing soft kisses to her abdomen, “we haven’t established whether or not you’ve been a good boy this year.”

He stopped in his traversing of her soft, exposed skin, looking up out of eyes darkened with lust, a wide wicked grin exposing his crooked teeth. “Oh, mistress, I’ve been good, I’ve been very, very, good, but now I want to be _baadd_.”

Her heart lurched in her breast, both with love and desire. She put out a hand to gently run it through his hair. He interpreted that as permission to do his worst. His grin got momentarily wider before he returned to his work, eliciting the first of soft gasps from her lips.

The house eventually stilled, all activity ceasing. The hour was now well past midnight, tomorrow had become today.

Today, Leia-Rose would creep into their room complaining of a bad dream and Ben, his wife asleep at his side, would allow himself to be suckered into taking her downstairs - on the condition she first found her hair ribbon and put on her Elsa slippers.

Groaning through lack of sleep, he would head for the bathroom, while his wife called after him, “There’s one born every minute, Solo.” Damn, she’d heard every word of the negotiation, and he knew himself to be no match for the women in his family.

Leia-Rose, told she could open only one present would open two, her Elsa helmet being absolutely essential as she traversed the house on the pristine wheels of her new scooter, while Ben prepared pancake batter for his children and bacon and eggs for him and his wife.

Rey would scoff her eggs and bacon, served with multiple slices of toast, then squeeze in room for the last of the pancakes, clearing Leia-Rose’s plate of leftovers too. Rey Solo, slender of frame, could eat enough food to choke a pig.

Later they would drive to grandpa and granny’s for Christmas lunch, Leia pulling out all the stops. Uncle Chewie would be there and his on again/off again girlfriend, Maz Kanata.

Leia, challenged on Leia-Rose’s use of colourful language, would give Maz up to Rey, because it may be that she and Leia-Rose dropped in weekly for a glass of milk and a piece of pie at Maz’s roadside diner, The Pit Stop. It may be that Leia-Rose had heard Maz yell out unruly truckers and Snap Wexley, her short order cook.

Rey would nod and accept this explanation, after giving reproof, but not entirely convinced. Leia, cultivating her sweet little old lady persona since the birth of her grandkids, could, Rey knew, still mix it up with the best of them - and often did if the network news was to be believed.

Anakin would be blissfully happy in the company of his dad and grandpa Han, and Uncle Chewie. Han making good on his promise to teach his grandson all there was to know about fixing cars, flying planes, and how to always - always - get the girl. Ben, listening in, was so glad that last part was theoretical, at least for now.

The family peace they now enjoyed was down to Rey, they all acknowledged it, and hard won.

Leia was looking to step down from public life shortly, wanting to protect these two precious grandchildren from the scandals of the past and the often toxic legacy of the Skywalker name, which was recycled and rehashed with mind numbing predictability by her political opponents.

That was all tomorrow, however, today they were the Solo’s, enjoying a Merry Christmas with family and friends, and hoping for a Happy and Prosperous New Year.


	2. A Sleigh Ride Together for Two

When he gets back to the city he’s going to eviscerate that grubby excuse of a dealership, Plutt, and shove his mealy-mouthed excuses down his throat with his fist.

The question is, though: if Plutt’s standard of workmanship is what it is, why did he continue to lend him his patronage? Because in the city he’s Kylo Ren and Kylo Ren’s time is counted in seconds not minutes. So he muted the part of him that was still Ben Solo, ignored the tells Plutt’s sullen faced mechanics gave him, and entrusted the maintenance of his foreign import into Plutt’s greasy mitts because he got to dictate terms to Plutt. At a price. Clearly.

Ok, there had been niggles in the past, but they served as an outlet for rage accrued working/living/existing in the hellscape that was Palpatine, Snoke, Pryde & Associates. Persecuting Plutt periodically had brought some relief to his wounded _amour-propre_. Gah, how pathetic had his life been? How intolerable.

So he gritted his teeth and pulled out his cellphone, hitting the contact for The Lodge, his Uncle Chewie’s hotel located in one of the premiere ski resorts. Maz’s voice crackled over the ether, “The Lodge, Bespin, how may I help you?”

His mouth was suddenly dry, his voice barely a rasp as he got out, “Maz, its Ben.”

“Ben Solo!” He winced, pulling his cellphone away from his ear, imagining every head turning in the hotel’s reception area toward the diminutive receptionist, wondering both who Ben Solo was that his name was being bellowed out throughout the plush surroundings and how such a tiny body could generate such volume.

“Where are you, kiddo, we expected you an hour ago.”

“Maz,” he cleared his throat trying to generate some spit. “Maz,” his voice came out stronger, “something’s wrong with my car. I’ve broken down, but I know I’m not far from you.”

“No problem, kiddo, I’ll send Ray out to get you. Whereabouts are you?”

“I’ll send you a pin.”

A derisive snort come down the line, “Pin my eye. A pin’s no good to me, kiddo, tell me what you see.”

He debated explaining the nature and use of a locator for all of a quarter of a second and gave it up, Maz was set in her ways and it was best to just give in.

“Well, I passed a farm a little while back,” he cast his eyes over the snowy landscape, “oh, and I can see a tree a meadow over, on the right hand side of the road.” He wound down his window a little ways, his car interior was rapidly cooling and the windows were beginning to steam up even with early afternoon sun shining on them from a clear blue sky. “Um, it’s quite a big tree, like you could hide in it. Looks like it’s been struck by lightning sometime.”

Maz gave a snort of triumph, “I got this, kiddo. I’ll send Ray to collect you. Might be a little while, BB will have to be turned out first. Don’t move.”

She killed the call on these valedictory words, his phone plinking to tell him the call had been terminated before the screen darkened. It said something for the esteem he held Maz Kanata in that her breezy dismissal did not provoke rage in him, rather he tucked his phone away and set himself to wait obediently.

His obedient acceptance of his circumstances lasted all of five minutes, if that. The familiar bubble of irritation began to surface and he questioned the wisdom of the trip in the first place. Judging by his present predicament, the auspices were not good.

It had been his mother’s idea, subsequent to her freeing him from the well-paid slavery he had indentured himself as a newly qualified law graduate, turning his back on his family, his legacy, all of it. Celebrating the first Christmas with them in ... how long? He couldn’t be bothered to do the math, certainly, at thirty-two, a long while.

She had chosen The Lodge as neutral territory, and because it was owned by his Uncle Chewie. No matter how often he had doubted that his parents even liked him, he had never doubted his Uncle Chewie’s love for him. It was the only link with the past he’d kept.

It was to his Uncle Chewie he had confided his fears about the dark doings at Palpatine, Snoke and Pryde. It was Uncle Chewie who had mediated between him and his mother and got her to contact law-enforcement agencies, who brought the whole house of cards down.

It had been a shock to find he was set up to be the fall guy, his mentor, Snoke, apparently despising him all this while, deeming him to be too much like his father, Han Solo. He had given in to hysterical laughter with that reveal, like he hadn’t tried consciously to be the polar opposite of his dad since thirteen years old. Clearly, Snoke knew something he didn’t.

His right leg was bouncing up and down as the past reached out and threatened to overwhelm him. He tumbled out of his car into the cold air. Shit, it must be all of forty degrees. He blinked up at the blue sky, it was a radiant, unpolluted blue, lovely to look at but the temperature would drop rapidly as the sun set. He hoped this Ray guy was competent or he was set to be found permafrosted in the spring.

He stomped up and down the road, never more than nine feet from his car, placing his feet as best he could in the broad depressions his car tyres had made in the snow, mindful of his expensive Italian leather shoes. The road ahead was untouched, maybe four inches of snow had fallen?

He was now stomping his feet and rotating his arms across his chest to keep his circulation going, standing by the trunk of his car having given up his perambulation, his shoes sure to be ruined as he’d also given up being persnickety and moodily tramped a trail through the undisturbed snow. 

Colour him hallucinating, but he thought he could hear the distant sound of sleigh bells. The thought of Santa Claus come to rescue him provoked a rare rumbling laugh from him; he had not been anything like a good boy for the longest time. The sound of his laughter, swallowed up by the rolling landscape, started another train of thought: how long since he’d last laughed?

He was pulled from his navel gazing by the increasing volume of sleigh bells, moving at pace. He glanced to his left from where he thought the sound was coming but could see nothing. About to turn away and look to the meadow on his right, a chestnut head with a white blaze and long flaxen mane rose into view, previously hidden by a dip in the land. A muscular chest followed and then the rest of a short, muscular, glowing chestnut body dressed in black harness and pulling a two man sleigh. A slight figure was handling the reins with no little skill.

Could this be Ray?

At the sight of him, the driver called out, “Whoa, Bee-bee, walk on.” Obediently, the showy Haflinger slowed from a trot to a walk, stopping just short of him. The figure secured the reins, hopping out the sleigh and walking quickly toward him.

“Hi, are you Ben?” Her voice was British and a turn on. Ray was a she.

He looked down upon beauty wearing a red plaid trapper hat, the sides let down with the strings hanging loose. A green hand knit scarf was wound around her neck, tucked under her chin to make the most perfect frame for the most perfect face in all the world - scrub that, Galaxy.

She hurtled on, scolding him now, “It’s a wonder you haven’t frozen to death, you need a hat, we lose the most heat through our heads.”

Her lips were pink and the most perfect shape. She was grinning up at him, unwinding the scarf around her neck. “Hey, it’s not far to The Lodge but Bee-Bee will ace it going back, he resented being taken from his nice warm stable.”

As she spoke, she turned up the collar of his coat and looped the scarf around his neck, tucking the ends through the loop and tightening it to make cosy. It still had some of her residual warmth, and her scent, which was of violets.

She’d risen up on tiptoes, her chest, encased in a thick, padded coat, briefly pressing against his. Her eyes were hazel, and her reddened cheeks made a perfect foil for her freckles, which were golden.

As she stepped away he cleared his throat, “I have a hat in my duffel bag, a beanie. I’ll wear it tomorrow. My name is Ben, by the way.”

He had ended his speech a little lamely, his confidence to speak to her rapidly evaporating. She had begun to smile as he’d begun to speak, now her face split into a wide grin showing perfect white teeth. For some reason his own face ached, until he realised he was grinning right back at her.

“I’m Rey. Come on, you. Get your bag and belongings and let’s go, we burn daylight.”

Obediently he popped the trunk of his car and lifted out his duffel bag, taking out his key fob and locking his car. It beeped and the wing mirrors retracted.

He shuffled after her, leaping where she did to clear a kerb hidden under the snow. She seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of what lay beneath the vast white blanket currently covering all discernible land. Bee-bee nickered softly as they approached, moving on impatient hooves wishing to be back home.

“Whoa, Bee-bee.” Obediently, the horse stilled, tossing its long, beautiful flaxen mane which hung down past its shoulders. He took his seat as directed and she covered his legs with a sheepskin rug, tucking it firmly around him. Their faces were so close now, less than three inches. If he leaned forward just a smidgen, he could press his own lips against hers. Would she mind? Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t.

Before he’d come to a satisfactory conclusion, she’d stowed his duffel bag between them and taken her seat, spreading a tartan wool rug over the both of their legs. Taking the reins she flashed him another wide smile and clucked at Bee-bee, the horse immediately began to turn and retrace its steps back home.

His mind was churning as she exchanged constant quick glances with him, her lips curving upwards in the most wondrous way, her attention divided between looking at him and directing Bee-bee’s hooves safely on the hidden track. His face continued to ache as he worked painstakingly through different scenarios, the end result being to ask her out on a date - organising an engagement party was way too soon, he could see that.

As always, she took charge.

“So, your car. What happened?”

“My, car? Oh, yes, my car.”

Her laugh rang out and he got to thinking what he could possibly do to make her laugh again. If only Snoke had been right and he truly was his father’s son. The old man would have had it all locked down by now, if his courtship of his mother was anything to go by, his ring firmly on her finger. She caught his eye, waiting on an explanation.

“Oh, it kept losing power even though I floored it, then the power would surge back. Then it just died.”

She nodded, brow slightly furrowed as she worked on a diagnosis. He linked his hands together under the rug so as not to be tempted to smooth the worry away.

“You’ve had it serviced at a dealership, right?”

“Yes, in the city, at Plutt’s Automotive.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t her usual merry sound, rather it had a hollow bitter quality to it.

“That explains it. Plutt is notorious for using cheap non-regulation parts. The worry is, the marque may cancel your warranty. Did you get him to sign your service log?”

He’d have to check that out, but principally felt he was well served. His pushing Plutt, believing he had the whip hand over the man, had backfired spectacularly. Ben Solo would have known that the deadlines Kylo Ren had imposed were unreasonable. Parts for the imported marque were expensive and would need to be ordered, with a longish wait time. The hopelessness he’d often felt in his time with Snoke came flooding back.

“Hey, hey,” she was softly chiding him, “don’t take it so personally. You had to work for Plutt to know the kind of shit he was pulling.”

She had transferred the reins to one hand and had covered his own hands, clasped together beneath rug and blanket, in a way that betokened sympathy and fellow feeling.

She had on wrist warmers, looped over her thumb to keep them secured, leaving her fingers free. They looked hand knitted too, in the sort of pattern you saw on Nordic jumpers, in deep pink and grey. Her padded coat was dark blue. She was a hotchpotch of colours, and my wasn’t she beautiful in all of them.

“You sound like you had firsthand knowledge,” he ventured, still impossibly shy when speaking to her.

Her face hardened, “I do, did. It’s how I came to be here, Plutt tried it on with the wrong punter, a friend of Han and Chewie - oh, Chewie owns The Lodge and Han is like his best buddy.” He nodded, willing her to go on.

“Well, their friend, Lando, got right royally ripped off by Plutt and they paid him a visit to make it right. During the course of _negotiations_ they discovered me and took me with them when they left. I’ve worked here ever since. Got my mechanics license and everything. I owe them my life. Plutt was my last foster parent, you see, and reckoned I owed him for _taking care_ of me.”

Her laugh rang out again, hard and bitter.

“He’d have kept me with him forever, if he could,” she continued. “I just couldn’t quite get enough dosh together to leave him, and if he discovered my stash he’d take it, reckoning _I still owed him_.”

It sounded to his ears remarkably similar to his agreement with Snoke, entered into when he was young and hurting, desperate to belong to someone, to somewhere. He pulled his left hand free and linked fingers with her. She looked down upon their clasped hands and then up into his face. A tremulous smile briefly curved her lips and then she turned her attention to the track ahead. She did not disengage her hand. He settled comfortably beside her, content.

Before them Bee-bee’s head bobbed as he jog trotted the way home, his ears pointed forwards, his mane lifting and falling with each step, the brass sleigh bells attached to the girth of his harness jingled merrily.

This was probably the best day of Ben’s life.

They parted before the main doors of The Lodge, the doorman having taken charge of his bag and gone to check him in.

He looked down at her shyly, throat bobbing nervously, his face still aching. His hair had grown long these past few months, though not neglected. He still practiced his essential daily hair care routine. It flopped forward getting into his eyes, he still saw her clearly though. He never could not see her clearly, her image would be carried in his mind’s eye when parted from her.

“Well,” she said, a whole unspoken wealth of meaning in her words. Goodbye, farewell, see you around, bye.

“I wonder,” he stammered out, “would you have dinner with me. Tonight. Here. My treat.” Maker, what was he, twelve?

“You mean like a date?” She was beaming at him.

“Yes, like a date.” His face started to ache even more, and then it didn’t. “Oh, my folks will probably be there too.” He saw her face fall a little.

“Oh, well, food’s food, I guess. Are you sure your folks won’t mind?”

“Oh, no, they’ve wanted me to be married like forever.” Please, someone come kill him.

Her face was beaming. “Married, eh?”

Incredibly, amazingly, she didn’t seem to mind him fast tracking their relationship. His face started to ache again and she laughed, the merry sound ringing out causing people’s heads to turn, including Bee-bee’s.

“Well, let’s have dinner first. What time?”

“Is seven ok?”

“Seven is more than ok. I must warn you, I eat lots and will be starving by seven.”

His faced ached some more, “That’s ok, more than ok. I’ll feed you.”

This remark seemed to confer great pleasure on them both and before he knew it, she was pressed against him pressing her lips against his cheek in a lovely kiss. Before he could capture her in his arms and reciprocate, though not as chastely, she was in the sleigh and moving off.

He rubbed where that blessed kiss lay, ensuring it got fully absorbed into his skin. The doorman was back at his station, holding open the door and telling him his bag was being taken to his room. He walked into the foyer and there was his mother and father and Uncle Chewie, all having had a ringside seat to the kiss, all grinning widely.

His face stopped aching and he blushed scarlet, even his ears.

She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, over which she wore a red and white plaid shirt, tied in a knot above her belt. She had exchanged her work boots for sneakers and her hair was down. Her makeup was quite natural, barely there.

“Hi,” she said shyly as he strode toward her, determined to make up for his previous gaucheness with a sophisticated display of charm.

“Hi,” he replied, looking down at her. “You came.”

She smothered a laugh, “I was invited.”

“You were,” he replied, “by me.”

They stood grinning happily at each other. Somehow he had taken her hand and she squeezed his. How long they would have stood there, caught in their own happy bubble was debatable - forever? Then Han Solo’s voice sounded, “Well, hello, Rey.”

“Han,” she cried out joyfully, letting go Ben’s hand to step forward to hug him and have him hug her back. Darn it, why did his dad got all the moves?

“Table’s waiting on us. Leia’s here.”

“Oh, thank you, Han, but I’m on a date. With Ben.”

She released her hold on his dad and stepped back to the safety of Ben’s side, who immediately curled his arm around her waist.

“Well, don’t I know that,” beamed Han, “I’m Ben’s dad!”

“You are?” She turned a wide eyed look on Ben, “He is?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey, a little respect. Kid’s got my moves, stands to reason.” This was accompanied by a knowing wink which set Ben’s ears burning and caused his lips to tighten.

She looked at Ben then, really looked, taking note of all his features and his height.

“Yes, I can see it,” she spoke slowly, contemplatively, “your smirk, and his mother’s eyes, but the dimples are all his own.” She laid a hand tenderly against Ben’s cheek. His face started to ache again. “There they are,” she spoke softly, “and his beautiful hair.” With that moved her hand from his cheek to softly card through his hair. “Spun silk,” she murmured, and he lowered his head and closed his eyes, like some great tamed beast, while she caressed him, a look of wonder on her face.

How long they would have remained like this was debatable - maybe forever? Han’s intrusive cough broke through the enchantment.

“Well, we best go eat, kids.”

They broke apart and followed Han, hand in hand.

Leia was welcoming, putting Rey at ease. Ben made sure his chair was directly set against Rey’s. As she said, she had a good appetite, he looked on with pride as she demolished her dinner, plate piled high. Apparently Uncle Chewie’s chef knew she could put it away.

She was served short on potatoes though, looking in chagrin at her plate still loaded with vegetables and meat but denuded of potato. 

Surreptitiously, he speared one of his own and plopped it on her plate. She looked up at him with shy adoration, he was to learn gifts of food constituted her most precious memories. Emboldened, he speared another and gifted her a second. Her face broke into a bright grin and she tucked in, sending him shy glances throughout the rest of the meal.

Thankfully, his parents didn’t stick around, yawning ostentatiously and turning in for an early night. They wandered into the bar and found a quiet corner. He ordered her a soda, for she didn’t drink alcohol as she feared she had her parents genes. He heard about her abandonment issues, which were understandable given her history.

Shamefaced, he recounted a little of his own history, confiding he didn’t know where Kylo Ren ended and Ben Solo began. She pointed out that as she hadn’t know either of them _before_ she was happy with who he was now.

This encouraged him to put her on his knee and kiss her until she squeaked. He then proposed, she accepted, and they were married three weeks later.

He never did go back to the city, setting up a practice in the nearby town and living a life dressed in plaid and transferring legal ownership of prize bulls and the like, leaving it to his dad and Uncle Chewie to settle with Plutt. Which they did, Plutt eventually losing the dealership and paying him compensation.

He sold his apartment by proxy through a realtor, hiring a moving company to pack up his clothes and personal possessions.

In his downtime he portered for Uncle Chewie, drove the snowplough in winter, covered the school bus run, and learned to drive a horse drawn sleigh. He was also the proud father of three, two boys and a little girl with a big personality, the darling of her grandmother.

All in all it was a sea change compared to his previous life, but a worthwhile one. He and Rey were able to pass on a worthwhile legacy to their children that money and prestige could not buy - that of grace, and the redeeming quality of love.

A Happy Christmas to you all.


	3. Santa Claus is Coming to Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just suppose Leia had a granddaughter - a mini me .... more Solo family Christmas nonsense

The tiny mite pattering toward him clinging to the hand of a man in black, clearly a bodyguard, and shepherded by the store manager, was dressed expensively. Oh, the child of some celebrity too famous to mix with mere ordinary mortals; so that’s why he’d been called in early.

“Santa, this is Leia-Rose.” The store manager spoke ingratiatingly, eyeing Santa meaningfully.

Santa took his cue.

“Leia-Rose, that’s a pretty name.” He beamed at her.

“I’m named after my granny and my mommy’s best friend, but I have my own name, my daddy gave it to me so I can make my own legacy. My daddy chose Harmonie for me, because that’s what I brought with me when I came into the world. My daddy calls me Harmonie.”

Her demeanour had become truculent as she delivered this clearly memorised speech, like she was expecting him to try overturn her daddy’s wishes. He gave an indulgent laugh and found himself glared at. The store manager intervened.

“Well, they are all lovely names, I’m sure, but Leia-Rose is here today, Santa, to tell you what she wants for Christmas.”

“Ho-ho-ho. Well, we’ll have to see whether she’s been a good girl first,” Santa gave a jovial laugh, this he knew how to deal with.

“I have,” said the little mite flatly, “my daddy says I’m the best girl in all the world, after my mommy.” Her tone brooked no argument. Santa was temporarily lost for words.

“Yes, quite,” said the store manager, breaking the standoff, “we’d better get on, then. Leia-Rose has a list, Santa, written in her very own hand.”

“Mommy wrote it out for me and I copied it,” she stated. “I’ll be happy with whatever you bring me, but I must have my scooter, and a helmet to go with - an Elsa helmet.”

She looked at him meaningfully, like he’d better get that right, and held out a crumpled piece of paper. Santa leaned forward and took the proffered scrap, smoothing it and reading it out aloud.

“Well, young lady, I’ll try my best. Of course, a lot depends on whether you’ve been a ...”

He trailed off. From the look she was giving him, he was just two words short of irritating her. Of course, they’d established she was the best girl in all the world - after her mommy.

“Well, yes, I’ll talk to the elves,” he finished feebly.

She pulled her hand out of the bodyguard’s, smiling up at him, he drew back a couple of paces with the store manager and she stepped up to Santa’s knee.

“There’s something I want to ask you,” her voice was pitched low, confidingly. “Rory said at my house we haven’t got a chimney for you to come down, and that I should think about that. Well, I have and I think I know how you do it.”

She looked over her shoulder at the store manager, who smiled and practically bowed at her, her bodyguard standing by impassively. Assured they were not within earshot she began again.

“Is it like my mommy that time she left the house keys at granny’s house?”

Santa leaned forward, dropping his own voice, “Er, which time would that be?”

“You know, that time when she _picked the lock_.” She breathed the last three words like it was blasphemy to say them. “She used the bobby pins from my very own hair; granny always styles it when we visit. Daddy can style hair too, mommy not so much, but daddy styles my hair all the time. Look, I’ll show you?”

She turned her head so he could better see the braids and wound coils of hair, threaded through with ribbons. It was the kind of style a princess would wear in a Disney movie.

“It’s very nice.”

She seemed dissatisfied with such temperate praise but moved the conversation on.

“Mommy said I wasn’t to tell anyone she could do that, but you see everything, don’t you? Is that how you get into the houses without chimneys, you pick the lock?”

Taken slightly aback, whose child was this?, he managed, “Well, it _may_ be how I do it.”

She nodded, satisfied. “I thought so.” Her brow wrinkled, “It seems everyone is trying to tell me you’re not real, but here you are.”

“Here I am,” he echoed brightly, questioning for the first time the morality of being paid to lie to children.

“Torquil flat out said you don’t exist,” her brow darkened, “huh, he won’t do that again.”

He looked at her, “He won’t?”

She shook her head, “Uh-huh. He has spots, lots of them.”

Her face wore a look of complacency as she spoke and he guessed in some way she’d used Torquil’s spots against him. Maybe attacked his self-esteem?

“You won’t put mommy on your naughty list though,” she seemed momentarily anxious, “because of what I just told you?”

“Oh, no,” he hastened to assure her, “it was an emergency, wasn’t it.”

She nodded, clearly thinking something over. “And Mr. Akbar doesn’t count either, cos he was mean first, right?”

“Mr. Akbar?”

She nodded again. “Uh-huh. He was parking across our driveway cos he hates granny’s politics.” She took a deep breath as though readying to perform a feat of memory.

“He calls our family bleeding heart liberals, but granny says that’s a wonderful compliment, because it shows we are succeeding in making a more inclusive society. So mommy hot wired his truck and drove it clean out the state.”

She proceeded to recite her mommy’s skill set.

“My mommy can jump start any car you care to name. My mommy can drive any car you care to name. My mommy knows even more about cars than grandpa Han, and that’s a lot cos my grandpa Han was world champion five times before he retired.”

She looked at him expectantly. He was floundering. He’d been told she was six years old, but she was like no six year old he’d ever met, so confident and self-possessed.

“It doesn’t count, right, cos Mr. Akbar was mean first?” she prompted him.

“No, no, it doesn’t count,” he parroted.

She giggled, “Mr. Akbar was so mad, but he couldn’t prove a thing, and he never parked across our driveway again. Uncle Finn helped mommy. Uncle Finn has been mommy’s best friend since forever.”

A thought occurred to her, “Uncle Finn isn’t on your naughty list, is he? Mr. Akbar was mean first. It would be _so_ unfair if Uncle Finn was on your naughty list.”

Gold flecked green eyes glared at him, set in a peaches and cream complexion, topped by lustrous black hair wound into an ornate style.

He found himself agreeing on all points with her. Mr. Akbar was mean first. Uncle Finn was not on his naughty list, neither was her mommy.

He received a beaming smile in recompense. She would have said something further but there was the sound of approaching voices. She turned to look.

“Oh, it’s granny and mommy.”

A good looking younger woman accompanied by a regal looking older lady were walking toward them, another bodyguard trailing after. The store manager hurried to intercept them.

Leia-Rose turned back to Santa. I gotta go now but thank you for answering my questions and bringing me my scooter and Elsa helmet.”

He managed a little wave of his hand as she turned and ran to the group, both women bending down the better to hear her chatter, for she was tiny. Clearly, this didn’t suit Leia-Rose Harmonie, for she turned to her bodyguard and put up her arms to be lifted up. He heard her clearly then, “Thank you, Dopheld.” Whoever this kid belonged to, she cultivated quite the grand manner.

“Whose the kid?” First Elf was stood at his elbow, the store about to open.

“The future first female president of our country, that’s who.”

Santa raised his hand in farewell. The little group were moving off and Leia-Rose was waving goodbye over her bodyguard’s shoulder.

First Elf snorted at his joke.

Santa wasn’t joking.


	4. All I Want for Christmas is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another episode of the chaotic Skywalker-Solo’s family dynamic.

He limped into Jakku, cursing the sentiment his dad provoked in him so that he couldn’t deny him taking the Falcon home for Christmas. 

Of course, Uncle Chewie had laid down his two cents worth too, saying how much Han would love to see ‘the old girl’ again. That had clinched it, Uncle Chewie was his dad’s best friend, bester than Lando even, and living so far from his parents he didn’t know the true state of the old man’s health these days.

“Fine,” his dad always said, “I’m fine, stop worrying, you’re getting more like your mother every day.” Ben hoped _that_ was untrue.

So he’d taken “the old girl’ out of moth balls and fired her up and started the journey home for Christmas. Snoke had been furious, of course, threatened all sorts of retribution, but when it came to his dad and Uncle Chewie Ben Solo was fearless and couldn’t be browbeaten. Even that snarky creep, Hux, hadn’t been able to undermine his resolve. Anyway, he had the days accrued and a road trip, the more he thought about it, would do him good. Release him, temporarily, from the fetid air of Snoke, Palpatine & Associates.

Of course, Snoke would own his ass in the New Year, but for the twelve days of Christmas he was his own man - and it felt good.

The old girl had started rattling and coughing just outside Jakku, and Ben knew enough about his dad and Uncle Chewie’s brand of motor mechanics to suspect they’d put parts of their own making under the Falcon’s hood - the heater had packed up two towns back. Well, if that wasn’t a recipe for disaster.

He flagged down a pedestrian, a senior, when he made the town precincts.

“Son, that engine of yours is making quite the noise, sounds to me like the big end has gone.” Of course, he had to stop the town’s armchair expert in motor mechanics. “You need a mechanic, and a good one. Ray Kenobi is reckoned the best there is.”

Without further reference to Ben, the old timer pulled out a a cellphone that was so old it could be classed as antique and dialled Ray Kenobi.

“Hey, Ray, I got some business for you here, some guy driving a Falcon ...”, the old timer paused his speech and listened intently, beginning to chuckle. “Thought that’d get your attention. Of course, the old lady has seen better days, but a Falcon she is, as mean looking as the day she came off the line, 460 horse power of pure pleasure and pain.”

He listened intently, nodding and giving the location. “Sure, sure, I’ll tell him to sit tight. Sounds like the big end to me. Like I said, pure pleasure and pain.”

He was still chuckling as he signed off and ended the call.

“Ray will be along shortly with a tow truck, just you wait there young fella. Ray will get the job done, always supposing the parts can be got this side of Christmas. Yes, indeed, I know these Falcon’s are guaranteed babe magnets but no guarantee on reliability.” He ambled off, shaking his head and muttering to himself all the while.

“Thank you,” called out Ben, “I think,” he mumbled, a little disorientated by what had just passed, watching the old timer’s shambling retreat in the wing mirror. Still, there was nothing to lose by sitting tight and waiting for Ray - he hoped.

He reflected on the old man’s parting words, how they encapsulated his dad.

“Guaranteed to draw the prettiest girls in town,” his dad had boasted as he handed over the keys and log book to Ben in final transfer of ownership, Uncle Chewie beaming beside him. The two old reprobates had driven up to see him, one final road trip before fully embracing retirement. “Dad,” Ben had protested, in an attempt to stymie his dad’s confidences about girls in general, and one girl in particular.

“What?” The old man had opened his eyes wide and spread his hands wider, “It worked on your mother, didn’t it.”

You see, that was just the sort of remark Ben was dreading.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” his mother called from the kitchen, where she was taking inventory of his food supplies, “I was in a jam and needed a ride else I would never have got in that car with such a scruff behind the wheel.”

“Princess, you wound me.”

They were yelling now across his apartment, the banter set to go back and forth. Somewhere in all this his dad would mention he’d been conceived in the back of the Falcon and his mother would deny it, before launching into her ten best tips for meeting a _nice girl_ and making grand-babies. Looking at him reproachfully out of big brown eyes undimmed by age or experience.

His reminisces were interrupted by the throaty roar of an engine, a tow truck was turning in the road in front of him, backing up so as to tow him away and fix whatever mayhem Han Solo had created under the Falcon’s long wide hood.

A figure jumped out of the cab and walked toward him, casting covetous eyes on the Falcon and trailing tiny capable fingers along her chassis. He made a discovery - Ray was a Rey, and mighty pretty with it.

“Hi, mister, you the guy who needs a mechanic?” She was leaning down to peer at him through the driver’s window, set low, one hand pressed against the bodywork, her voice unmistakably British. Her face was tanned and freckled, her eyes hazel, showing green this close to him. She was a brunette too, his favourite kind of girl.

“Yes, ma’am, she started to play up a while back and I’m afraid to push my luck with her.”

“Uh-huh. Could you turn her over please?”

Her face wore a pained expression as she heard the unholy timpani coming from under the Falcon’s hood. “Ok, I heard enough, turn her off and put her into neutral. Sounds like her big end has gone, I’ll have to put her on the ramp to be sure, but it sure sounds like it. A couple of other things too, her tune up’s off. Did you hear how sour she sounded?”

Well, no, he hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to parade his lack of knowledge before a pretty girl who made her living from fixing cars. He made a suitable noise that might, _might_ , be interpreted as learn’ed agreement. Hey, he may know Jack shit about cars, but lawyering he could do real good.

As he pulled the keys from the Falcon’s ignition, he made a discovery, that the mechanic with an unique ear for the mood of a car engine also possessed a _derrière_ to die for. He sat entranced as it showed itself, her leather jacket riding up as she leaned forward to release some slack on the hook and tackle which would tow him and the Falcon to a nice warm garage.

He received his mission with true humility and gratitude, glad to be an instrument of the Lord, grateful for the grace just received.

All he had to do now to fulfil it, was figure how to get his hands on that peachy posterior - say while she was pressed against him as he kissed her into the New Year - without her reaching for a crescent wrench to beat his brains in.

No, he was not of the sort that shrank back, but the sort that would press forward to glory. Yes, sir, he was Han Solo’s son. Never tell him the odds.

He started to thaw out on the short journey to Rey’s garage, warmed by the tow truck’s blast furnace level heating, finding his toes had lost all feeling without him realising. She chuckled when he confided that the Falcon’s heater had packed up too.

“You’ve got to bring your A-game with the Falcon’s, mechanically speaking,” she confided, “stands to reason, she’s over forty years old now, that’s why there’s so few of them left, but the reward is in the performance when they run true.

There was a guy some years back, in the seventies, took part in the Kessel Run twenty four hour race, did it in a Falcon and won it by twelve laps. He had a woman co-driver too, previously unheard of in those days.” She shook her head, marvelling at the achievement.

“The organisers handed them the trophy and wound the race up, said the record could never be beaten, and I guess they were right, it never could.”

Ben forebore to tell her that that couple were his parents; best to ease her into his family gently.

His mom had stepped up as his dad’s co-driver, her style of driving, ‘pedal to the metal, what’s behind me doesn’t matter’, was ideally suited to the endurance race. His dad napped beside her, confident of her ability not to lose them time - and she hadn’t, more experienced drivers eating her dust.

He’d grown up with daily sight of that trophy, a three foot tall, slim, solid silver claret jug, residing in a lighted cabinet specially built for it, a picture of his victorious parents stood at its base, wreaths of laurel leaves placed around their necks - the victors. His mom looked every one of her nineteen years, dressed in a white jumpsuit with advertising for a major motor oil company emblazoned on the chest and arms, her hair worn in braids wound around her ears.

He could see why she’d fallen so hard for his dad, the scoundrel was as handsome as he could be, lips curled in a knowing smirk, looking into the camera with all the brash confidence he was capable of. The pity was he hadn’t passed his good looks onto his only child, it would have made his son’s present mission so much easier if he had.

Where Han Solo’s nose was long, his son’s was longer and slightly hooked. Han Solo’s lips were full. Ben Solo’s lips looked as though they had been stung by bees and were inclined to pout. As for his ears, don’t get him started on those. Well, at least he could dictate his own haircut now, and not the bowl cut his mom had decreed he have right up to his teenage years, and cover those twin abominations up. His hair was quite nice he thought.

They had arrived at Rey’s garage, and he helped push the Falcon into position over the mechanic’s pit. He popped the hood and she began inventory of the parts needed to fix the heap of junk his father had bequeathed him - “It’s better to give with warm hands, son, not cold.”

Pops could really go the old country when he wanted. His mom was not much better, spouting the sayings of Naboo like it still meant something in the world, instead of the equivalent of fly squitter on a map. Not that he dare ever tell her that.

It seemed even this task would be a labour of Hercules, for Rey pulled her head from out from under the hood, blowing stray hairs from out of her face; her three bun style was suffering from the exertions of moving the Falcon into situ.

“Come on, I’ll sit you in the office, there’s heat there and coffee, this is going to take longer than I thought, someone’s fitted homemade components onto the engine - badly. Who did you buy her from?”

He was caught on the horns of a dilemma, wanting to stay and admire the view as she bent over the Falcon and not wanting to reveal himself as Han Solo’s son. That tended to hijack the conversation with most females of any age he had found. Enough images of his dad in his glory days existed for him to form a large part of even modern women’s fantasies. Pops had a lot to answer for, if he did but know it.

He mumbled out a story, therefore, with so many twists and turns, caveats and retractions, to confuse even himself, seeing the tiny mechanic’s brow furrow in puzzlement before she gave it up.

The office was cramped, soon warmed by the space heater Rey plugged in, the coffee machine gurgling away in no time at all, expressing dark, fragrant liquid into the glass jug beneath. He shrugged off his logger jacket, anticipating overheating in very short order.

“So, I’ll go take inventory and then I’ll ...”

Whatever she was going to say next as she turned toward him was lost in a jumbled mumbling as her voice trailed off. She flushed scarlet and all but ran out the door.

He stood there mildly interested at what just happened, but was soon distracted by the siren call of fresh brewed coffee. He poured himself a liberal dose of the sweet nectar, black with no sugar, and perched himself on the only chair, quite comfortable even in his short sleeved t-shirt with the warmth the space heater was throwing out.

First cup downed, he settled for a further half cup, not wanting to incur a caffeine high before lunch. He pulled out his phone and debated whether or not to call his parents. It wasn’t beyond them to pile into Uncle Chewie’s truck and come get him - or, worse, set about fixing the Falcon. Either way, severely cramping his style.

There were a couple of snarky texts from Snoke and Hux, and he took great delight blocking them both for the duration. As he was putting away his phone, Rey came back into the office, her eyes constantly shifting around its environs, seemingly unable to meet his. It was puzzling - odd.

The upshot was that the Falcon required a long, and expensive, list of parts to make her roadworthy.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you for the money upfront, I rarely get jobs this big and my line of credit only goes so far.” She briefly met his eyes, blushing a little again, before staring down at her steel toe capped work boots.

“Sure, no problem.” He pulled out his credit card, “Will this do?” Her eyes flew up to his again, wide with wonder at the colour and provider of his card. He was dressed in his homecoming clothes, which gave no indication of his wealth or otherwise - just like his dad and Uncle Chewie.

She nodded, seemingly mute after delivering her request and he stood and manoeuvred himself around her, their chests briefly brushing. This set off another round of blushing and stammering so he left her to it, brewing a fresh pot of coffee and putting a cup heavy with cream and sugar in front of her, brewed according to her tastes, as she rang around her suppliers and paid for courier service to get next day delivery. His credit card was taking a heavy hit.

“So,” she said, swinging around in her chair to face him, “there’s a car hire service next town over. I can drive you there and you can collect your car on the return journey.”

“I’m going nowhere, sweetheart.” He used the endearment without thinking, provoking another blush. This was fun, how many times he could make Rey blush in one day. “I’ll stay and help you get the job done. I’m not much use mechanically, but I know which tools are which and I can help you with the grunt work.” For some reason, another wave of colour swept over her cheeks. This was funner.

“So, he continued, “got a hotel in this town?” He caught her look of derision, “Motel, Airbnb?” Clearly not.

“I,” she swallowed, attention fixed on the toes of her work shoes again, “er, I have a spare room. Well, an office really. Ok, a glorified cupboard, but there’s a futon in there and you should be able to fit, even with your height and your, er ...” she made a gesture with her hands encompassing all of him, her eyes unmistakably running appreciatively over his bare, well-muscled arms before dropping again.

He experienced an epiphany, the proverbial lightbulb moment. Thank you, Lord, praise be.

“Well, if you’re sure. If it’s no bother.” Play it cool, Solo, he chided himself, think how Pops would play this.

“Oh, oh, no bother at all.”

Seeing as how she was helping him out, he invited her to lunch, his treat. From right across the room he could hear her stomach rumbling. There was a little demur on her behalf. He insisted. She accepted graciously, locking up the premises for the day as they set off for the diner in her tow truck, his luggage tucked under the banquette seat.

Lunch was good, the more food he put into her the more loquacious she became. So it was that he learned she was an orphan, her maternal grandfather coming into her life in her early teens having tracked her down, now sadly passed leaving her the business. She passed over her parents with a grimace and a lost look in her eyes. He didn’t press her for more than she was prepared to give, if she wanted him to know something she’d tell him.

He made a mental note to tell his mom to tread carefully on the subject - sometimes his mom’s mother hen complex went viral and she over-stepped.

Her apartment was tiny and chaotic, both in the amount of stuff crammed in and the bright, clashing colours. An ancient couch was covered with an antique patchwork quilt, over which were thrown mismatched cushions and throws.

Cosy, he thought, it was the kind of room that reached out, wrapped itself around you and hugged you.

The blinds were strips of bamboo, and the window ledges were crammed with greenery of all heights and depths, housed in all manner of receptacles, like she scavenged her possessions.

Her guest room was doable and he was happy to live out of his suitcase for the duration, though she moved stuff around helplessly and to no purpose for a few minutes until he took her hand and lead her back to the living room assuring her it was fine, he was fine, it was all fine.

Lovely green eyes regarded him, something like pleading in them, though for why he couldn’t figure, and pretty pink lips trembled as though she wanted to say something to him. If he’d known her for more than five minutes together, and she him, he would have kissed her anxiety away. She may feel her apartment deficient, but to him it felt like home.

He settled for checking her fridge and cupboards for supplies, citing that he ate lots although she had eaten way more at lunch than he had and had taken no apparent harm. So it was off to the store and he filled a cart practically to the brim, her eyes bugging out at the fruit and vegetables he’d loaded it with in addition to the staples and three boxes of cereal. Cereal, he explained, was his Achilles heel. He just loved to snack on it. She nodded, clearly filing the information away for future use. He felt hopeful about their future life together.

So he cooked them dinner and left her to watch television as he cleaned up and went to his room, aware he was a looming presence in the small apartment. He pulled out his book and settled down to read.

With hindsight, he ought to have picked up on his mom’s copious use of _Benjamin_ when she called him, just before he settled down to sleep, note her mild tone of inquiry, how she didn’t have a checklist of questions for him to answer as she usually did. Just an offhand question as to where he was, and what progress he was making in the Falcon as he headed for home.

He _may_ have told his mom a teeny-weeny, little white lie or three, unmindful of her request for him to always tell her the truth even if he thought she couldn’t take it. Obviously, he wouldn’t have done that had he known she’d got DJ to download a tracking app on his phone before he left to go work for Snoke. Obviously.

By the time he took her call, she’d had DJ check out his exact location and had found out about _the girl_. Calling a council of war, she shushed his dad when he told her there was _always a girl_ , about to recount (for the millionth time) how he’d met his own girl. They hit the road well before dawn the next day heading for Jakku, his mom driving Uncle Chewie’s big red truck, having too much nervous energy to sit quietly as a passenger. She floored it all the way, picking up three citations for speeding.

Her son, oblivious to the coming wrath of mom, rose early, squeezed himself into the shower, styled his hair, braiding the front to keep it out his eyes, and put on a pair of low slung jeans - without benefit of a shirt. Bare chested, he brewed tea for his future wife as she padded down the passageway yawning fit to bust. Handing it to her as she blinked owlishly at his chest, unable to tear her eyes away it seemed from the vast, pale, muscled vista before her. He tried not to preen.

He asked her three times what she’d like for breakfast, but she seemed unable to compute. “Right, pancakes it is,” he retorted cheerfully when she didn’t answer, putting heat under the pan and serving her with a goodly amount in no time at all. While she tucked in he took himself off to his room to put on an old sweater he wouldn’t part with for worlds. It had a hole in the front of it, which seemed to transfix the little mechanic. He caught her peering speculatively at it throughout their working day, and the pale patch of skin visible beneath it.

As they drove to the garage, he took note of the houses. It appeared they hailed from more prosperous times, signs of slow decay visible under the Christmas lights and garlands and baubles strung around the pillars of the porches.

Jakku was once a prosperous mining town she told him, but whatever bounty the Earth had to give was all but dried up. The young people were deserting the town, heading for the city and jobs in IT and the like.

Most of her clientele were out-of-towners, drawn in by her reputation for excellence and scrupulous honesty regarding what needed to be done, and accurate billing. When her grandfather had passed, there was pressure on her to undercut other businesses in exchange for work. It had been a tough few months but she’d held out.

One of the most persistent ones, a man called Plutt, had taunted her repeatedly that she was going to go under. So one night, playing pool with some good friends of hers, she’d raised her voice so all the bar could hear. “I doubt it, Plutt, I’ll pack up and head for the city first. I’m too good a mechanic to fold and anyway, the cream always rises.”

After that, slowly, surely, her clientele had built back up, though she would not, under any circumstances, service Plutt’s fleet. The man had suffered more than her for her defiant stance. He had a history of arbitrary non-payment, very few reputable businesses wanted his trade now.

Listening to this, Ben felt himself go all caveman. Wanting to mash to a pulp any who caused his sweetheart any trouble or grief, Plutt heading the queue.

Getting back to the job at hand, they needed to lift out the engine block, and although she had an electric driven hoist a certain amount of muscle was also required. Modestly, he felt that this was where he excelled. Stowing their lunches and putting on safety shoes, he was ready to go. Rey keeping a scrupulous record on a time sheet, for she had yet to bill him for her labour and expertise.

They worked well together, he had enough empirical knowledge from watching his dad and Uncle Chewie to be a real help, often anticipating her next move. He saw her relax and even enjoy working alongside him and began to formulate a business plan, predicated on them being married, to each other.

Every so often they were interrupted by parts being delivered, and he took the opportunity to keep her well hydrated and wipe her brow clean of sweat and oil. She wore safety glasses and coveralls. She seemed to enjoy being looked after - despite some initial protests.

It was with blasé indifference then that they heard the doorbell ring again shortly before the noon hour, and heard a gravelly growl reminiscent of his dad’s shout out, “Shop!”

“In here,” he yelled, back turned as he handed Rey a tool she had requested, then heard, “Benjamin Chewbacca Skywalker-Solo!”

He swung around on his heel, grown paler than usual if that were possible, ears beginning to redden and glow. Aghast, he blurted out, “Mom.”

“Don’t you mom me, keeping my future daughter-in law from me, the mother of my grand-babies. How long did you think you could keep secrets from your mother, huh, and,” her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “why would you want to? Have you knocked her up already?”

“Mom,” he protested, more than a little scandalised.

His mother ignored him, come to stand before Rey, a vision dressed in white pants and a soft white turtleneck, the beige Harrington jacket bestowed upon her all those years ago lying just a _little_ snugly across her shoulders, left unfastened for a reason. Her lips, covered with a soft lick of lipstick, twisted in her trademark smile and she introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Leia Organa, but of course you knew that.”

Rey had sidled up to him and put a hand in his, an unconscious action which filled him with delight. At his mother’s words she gave a little gasp, “ _You_ are Leia Organa?”

“I am,” his mother cast him a darkling look which boded him no good, “come give me some love,” casting open her arms. Rey took in the white clothing his mother was dressed in and made no move, his mother, never one to stand on ceremony, surged forward and hugged her tightly. Rey let go his hand and let go a sound which, to his ears, sounded remarkably like a sob.

“Mmm,” spoke his mother, rocking the girl gently from side to side, face buried in Rey’s neck, “you’re going to give me the prettiest grand-babies, I just know it. Don’t worry, I’ll organise the whole thing, dress, hair, flowers, cake, venue. I’ll turn the whole thing around in a week, just watch me.”

“Mom,” Ben seemed not able to progress his protests much beyond that one word.

“As for you,” his mom released Rey from the hug but continued to hold her hands, “I’ve got words for you mister, but later, let me get acquainted with my new daughter first.”

It could be seen that not a mark from Rey’s coveralls or hands had stained the pristine whiteness of Leia Organa’s clothing. How did his mom do that?

“Han, haul your ass over here.”

Han left off looking over the parts destined for a refurbished Falcon and ambled over.

“Hi, I’m Han, but you can call me Pops now you’re going to be one of the family. Hey, Chewie, I’ve got me a daughter.” Han’s wingman looked up from across the garage and gave a wide grin.

“You want me in to be part of your family?” Rey’s voice came out tiny and teary.

“Sure do. Glad to see my son chose a mechanic instead of one of those bimbos he started chasing in his college days.”

“Dad,” hissed Ben, while Rey shot him a look which boded him no good.

“Oh, you’ll have to tell me about those, Mr. Solo,” Rey spoke in a deceptively bright tone.

“No, no, I tell no tales on anyone,” Han was doing his usual preening thing, loving being the centre of attention.

“Han,” his wife’s smoky voice made itself heard, “stop talking.”

Chewie saved his friend further embarrassment, calling him over with, “Hey, Han, come look at this.”

On a cork board pinned with all manner of bits of paper was a page torn out of a glossy magazine, the now famous image of Han and Leia, newly crowned with collars of laurel leaves, holding the Kessel cup between them.

“Seems you have a fan,” remarked Chewie.

“Well would you look at that,” Han looked like the cat who’d been at the cream. “That was so long ago you’d think it was long forgot.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Solo ... sorry, Pops, Motor Mechanic magazine did a retrospective on motor sports most memorable wins recently, yours was number two. I mean setting a twelve lap lead in the Kessel 24 hour race is not to be forgotten.”

“Fourteen laps,” corrected Han a tad tetchy. “People always say twelve laps, but it was fourteen.”

The three seniors clustered around the picture, reminiscing about their glory days, beginning to correct each other’s recall of events and the sequence of them. The usual Skywalker-Solo differences of opinion being aired.

Rey drew Ben away a little from the heated discussion about who had guaranteed victory.

“Are they always like this?” Rey inquired, observing Leia starting to stab her pointer figure into Han’s chest to make her point, and Han’s laconic, “Oh, so sorry your worshipfulness, but I thought I brought us first over the finishing line.” Clearly intending to be deliberately provocative, and succeeding.

“I’m afraid so. Why do you think I moved out?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she was looking at the arguing group, Chewie now muscling in between them, “it must be nice to not be alone, always have people ... noise.”

She looked up at him, shyly peeping at him under her lashes, “Did you tell your mom you wanted to marry me? Is that why she’s here?”

“No, I’ve yet to get to the bottom of why she’s here, but yes, I want to marry you. However, I was hoping to do it at a slower pace, you know, get to know you, take you on dates, propose, choose a ring together. It seems Skywalker and Solo men like to miss those bits out, I was hoping to change things up a bit.”

She was blushing again, “I’d like to experience those bits too, if you’re serious, if there’s a way you could stick around.”

“Well,” he slid an arm around her waist, fingertips brushing that part of her anatomy which had kicked all this off, “I’m sure that where there’s a will there’s a way. Of course, we’ve got to survive Christmas and then give these three the slip, but I think that’s doable. Eventually.” He dropped his head as he spoke, brushing her lips with his and rearing back to see how he was doing.

Her eyes had closed, but now they flew open, “Is that the best you can do, mister?” The provocation in her voice rivalled that of Han’s. He rose to the challenge, crushing her against him with a hand to the small of her back, the other against the object of his desire.

“Will that do, sweetheart?, his voice was thickened by desire.

“For now, mister, for now.” The gold flecks in her eyes were gleaming and he knew he was hers forever.

“Well, as you’ll all recall, I’ve been saying for years my boy was the image of me, possessed of authentic, undiluted charm just like his old man.” Han’s voice broke through the enchantment, “Yessir, the saying is true, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Oh, nonsense, he’s a Skywalker through and through, anyone can see that, ‘cept they operate on half a brain cell.” Leia came in to bat for the Skywalker’s. Ben rolled his eyes and Rey pressed her face into his large, muscular chest, shaking with laughter.

“Ok, kids, let’s pack it up and move it out.” Leia was not giving way to Han. “And don’t start whinging about the Falcon, laser brain, it was a heap of junk before and it’s a bigger heap of junk now. We’ve got Christmas to celebrate and I’ve got a wedding to plan.”

She took hold of Rey’s hand and began to lead her out, one arm raised, a finger pointing heavenwards. “Five minutes, guys, then you’re choking on my dust.” Ben strode quickly after them, soon catching up, then Chewie, Han brought up the rear whinging about the state of the Falcon. His complaint falling on deaf ears.

Ben never did go back to the city; well, only long enough to pack up his possessions and transfer the lease of his apartment. Someone, someone who took their civil duty seriously, sent the IRS a dossier covering the last five years, from about the time Ben had begun working for Snoke, Palpatine & Associates, regarding irregularities of fraudulent billing and tax evasion, amongst other crimes and misdemeanours. Snoke, Palpatine & Associates were no more and Ben was out of a job, temporarily.

The young couple held out until the following Easter and then Ben awaited his bride at an altar set up in the Solo home, the wedding of the year the media outlets called it.

At the champagne fuelled reception Han handed the young couple the keys to their own house, which was found to be the mansion situated next door to the Solo one. By this time, Rey was assimilated into the Skywalker-Solo family and made no demur. Everything this family did was either big or fearless and they always, always, had each other’s back. In short, she found the family she had been looking for.

Ben thought he’d outsmarted his mother with regard to his honeymoon, until his parents, Chewie, and Chewie’s girlfriend Maz showed up to celebrate with them. A few evenings later, after one to many Sex on the Beach cocktails, his mother confided about the tracker she’d had DJ put on his phone five years ago - so she could find his body should Snoke do away with him, which she was convinced he intended.

He opened his mouth to lecture her on boundaries. Then thought better of it - they were the Solo’s, this is how they rolled.


End file.
